When it all Begins
by Elixir.BB
Summary: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**__: Sherlock and Batman do not belong to me. Oh the fun things I could I do with them if I did though. _

_**Summary**__: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change. _

**_Important AN at bottom. It's a long one too, but important-ish. You guys are awesome and I love you. So so so much. Also, this may be my worst mistake in writing, I'll let you be the judge of that. Reviews as always are greatly appreciated. YOU ARE ALL AWESOME. SERIOUSLY AWESOME. Hope you enjoy! What I would give to have these two men in my life. Yahtzee!_**

* * *

When it all Begins

Prologue

* * *

When Molly Hooper was a young girl, her mother died in an automobile accident. It was a horrible accident, the metal of the automobile twisted and churned and the smell of gasoline and blood filled the air. Her mother, for all her strength and love, died instantly.

However; the young girl in the back seat, survived.

Her father, as much as he loved her and was grateful beyond words that she was alive, fell into depression. The loss of his wife ate at his heart and Molly, despite being young was also intuitive, knew that her father would send her away so he could deal with his depression without exposing Molly to it.

She found out she was going to America.

Molly wailed and railed against her father. She begged and pleaded and told him that _she _could take care of him. She _would_ take care of him. Everything else be damned because he's her father and she's his daughter and they just lost the one woman who made sense.

Her father broke down and sobbed. He told her that he needed time. He begged her to believe in him and that she would come home as soon as he was better. "Your uncle is a good man. You'll be safe with him."

And so, Molly Hooper boarded a plane to America. She slept throughout the entire flight.

When she awoke, she was in Gotham City.

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth is her mother's elder brother. He served in the Special Air Service for quite some time and later became wounded. It was from there, as the story has been told, that Thomas Wayne hired Alfred to be their butler.

Molly _knows_ all of this. She always knew all of this. Despite living on two separate continents, her uncle Alfred would call _every day_. Every day for one hour, she would hold the phone to her ear and talk to her uncle. Her mother would wipe her hands on a dishtowel and smile, all the while grabbing the phone and telling Molly to finish her homework.

Personally, Molly always thought her uncle was better than being just a butler. But she didn't say anything.

Her uncle and Thomas Wayne met her at the airport. She recognized her uncle at once. Her mother would always show her pictures but it was evident from where she was standing that both Pennyworth siblings shared the same eyes.

"Uncle Alfie!" Molly yelled. She ran through the crowd of people, her backpack slapping against her back. As soon as her uncle bent down, Molly jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head in between the crook of his shoulder. She couldn't stop the tears then. Her uncle smelled of soap and cinnamon, a smell that reminded her of her late mother.

Her uncle pulled his head away from her and gave her a sad smile. "You look just like your mother did when she was your age." He set her down on the ground and she clung to his leg. "Molly, love, this is Master Wayne."

Thomas Wayne is ridiculously handsome, Molly decides. He has a soft smile and gentle eyes. He crouches down until he's at eye level with her. "I am very sorry for your loss Molly. From what Alfred has told me, your mother was a very special woman. I want you to know that Wayne Manor will be your house for as long as you would like it to be." He looks up at Alfred and his smile quirks upward, "you're among family here."

Molly turns her head and smiles shyly at him. "Thank you Mr. Wayne."

"Father!" A boy, a couple years older than herself, says, "she has a funny accent."

"I do not!" Then she frowns, "who're you?"

"Molly," her uncle says gently, "this is young Master Wayne. He's Mr. and Mrs. Wayne's son."

He crinkles his nose. He has light brown hair and brown eyes and has his father's nose. "I'm Bruce." He sticks out his hand and Molly bites her lip staring at it.

She places her small hand in his.

(The rest, as they say, is history.)

* * *

She's in the lab, a few days after Christmas (she winces just thinking about it) and she can almost still feel the remnants of her hangover. (_Yes_, the first thing she did when she got back to her flat was get completely and absolutely_ blitzed_. Then she made the mistake of picking up her phone and calling Bruce. She spewed out the entire story in between sobs and promptly passed out. Bruce was _livid_.)

As the results of one of the tests spit out of the printer, Molly sighs and looks them over. She glances at Maude, a younger lab technician, and hands her the paper. "Can you get that over to Doctor Saunier, please? He's expecting it and it's quite urgent."

Maude smiles. "Sure. Do you mind if I take my lunch? I'm starved and I need a cig real bad."

Molly waves her off and then turns back to her table, fingers moving nimbly over beakers and test tubes. She doesn't even hear the thud of a duffle bag, falling to the floor, she doesn't hear the footsteps of the person behind her, but she most certainly notices when two arms wrap around her waist and when cold lips press against her jaw in a greeting kiss. She sould have screamed, and she rightfully _would_ have screamed if she didn't _recognize_ the hands. They're larger than hers, more callused from fighting and there are familiar scars on his hands (scars that she's traced with her fingertips time and time before.)

"Have you given up on me yet?" He asks her. His voice is gravelly and rough and if Molly weren't so completely and tragically in love with a man who will never notice her, who will never see her, she would have shivered.

As it stands, she grins, twirls around and throws her arms around his neck. "Never." She replies instantly, "You're stuck with me." It's how they start and end every conversation they've ever had. A reinforcement of their relationship and the depths they'd go to for each other. "You're here. You're really here." Then she frowns. "Wait…_why_ are you _here_?"

"You called me a few days ago, remember?"

_As if I can forget_. "Not my most spectacular moment."

"I had to convince Alfred to stay in Gotham. Your uncle is very determined to beat Sherlock Holmes into the ground." His arms tighten around her waist. "How are you?"

"_I_ should be asking _you_ that." And she really should. She knows this year has been hell on him. She knows everything he's been through and it tore her apart to be so far away from him. They hadn't had contact in nearly seven years, not since the phone call that will forever be ingrained in her mind from him telling her that he's be going off grid. She's spent her entire life worrying about the man in front of her and knows she'll spend the rest of it worrying even more.

"Show me what you're working on." He likes science. He likes watching her work. He's always liked watching her work.

And despite the fact that she has a dozen questions that he'll likely avoid, she turns back around and picks up where she left off, this time talking aloud.

They'll take breaks and she'll giggle about a memory that will suddenly come to mind and he'll pull her closer, reassuring himself that she's here and she's whole and she's semi-happy.

Then the lab doors open and Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes blows her entire world to bits.

_Again._

* * *

"Sherlock," John says, trying to match the taller man's strides, "maybe you should call and–"

"I never call. Why should I start now?"

_Because you completely one hundred percent thrashed her heart not even a few days ago, you insensitive git_. "Because it's the polite thing to do."

"Nonsense."

_Dear Lord_, John doesn't even know why he bothers anymore. He sends up a silent prayer hoping that the petite pathologist isn't in the lab. It's not that John doesn't want to see her, he does. He likes Molly. He thinks Molly is great. He just doesn't think he can take the heartbreak anymore. He's not like Sherlock, he_ feels _things. Like _empathy._

He contemplated asking Molly out once. Of course, that thought was smashed away when he realized that she only had eyes for Sherlock. He figures its not a fleeting crush either, because John doesn't know any woman willing to stick around after a man insults her so thoroughly and constantly. It's _love_ then, at least on her part.

Most definitely unrequited and John knows how much that type of love hurts. Lucille Baldwin. He remembers her. He loved her once when he was just a teenager. Of course, she fell in love with his sister Harry and look how splendid _that_ relationship turned out. Life was never fair to John Watson.

He's contemplating asking Molly to join an _Unrequited Love Club_ where they can drink until they can't see and bitch until their voices grow hoarse when he suddenly slams into the back of one Consulting Detective.

They're in the lab, _hmm, when did we get into the lab?_ And Sherlock is staring straight ahead, he moves to Sherlock's side and looks up at him, while dusting his jacket. He's about to ask why he suddenly stopped and why he's not saying anything until he gets a look at his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes narrow and one look at his hands tells John that he's fisting them tightly.

Then he glances up and he lets out (a rather undignified, _this_ he _will_ admit) squeak.

John will be the first to admit that he doesn't like America. He's met more than enough American men and women to have the fact solidified and he's never been one to be star struck, but there is something about _Bruce Wayne_ that leaves him…speechless. Not that he thought he'd _ever_ have to worry about that.

Turns out he was wrong.

And Molly Hooper has some serious explaining to do because John cannot under any circumstances understand why _Bruce Wayne_, of all people in this world, has his arms wrapped around Molly's waist and is holding her to him like she's his lifeline.

And _she's_ holding him _back_.

One look at Sherlock's white knuckles tells him that none of this can be good.

* * *

_So, in total, this will probably be anywhere from a three part to five part fic. It is also the definition of a crack fic. I think. Maybe not. Also, look forward to more and more memories on all parties involved (not John, he'll stay blissfully ignorant. Lol). Future chapters will definitely be a bit longer. Also, Molly knows about Batman. How, you might ask? Because she's Molly. Everything will be explained in due time, I promise you! _

_Timeline for this is after **that** Christmas, before New Years for Sherlock. (You bet your bottom dollar I'm putting in a New Year's Eve gala in there somewhere, it's too hard not to pass up!). Also, this is after Batman Begins but before The Dark Knight. Do I have any idea where this came from? NO. (Watch as I laugh hysterically.) This will probably be the craziest thing I ever write. Seriously. However, I have the ending in mind already and hopefully it'll work out. Dear Lord, someone stop me. RIGHT NOW. _

_Just a quick little note: I like Americans. I really do. So don't take what John says in offense, none of the opinions are mine, just purely for the story. _

_Also: Bruce Wayne is going to be a bit OOC. He's causing me some trouble, that billionaire playboy asshole. JK I LOVE HIM! The reason for this is because he knows Molly. He's known Molly since they were kids and they've bonded and he's a bit different when he's with her and it's vice versa. Alfred will appear through phone calls and Skype, which if everything goes according to plan, will be quite funny. Maybe. It probably won't, lol. _

_Tell me what you all think! Is it good? Is it bad? Should I take it down and not ever write anything like this again? Let me know! Reviews are greatly appreciated. In fact I love them. Like I love you guys. Seriously. Love. Love. Love. _

_I'll stop now. Seriously. _

_Thanks again and much love!_

_P.S. Who wants a Bruce Wayne snarky-goading-billionaire-playboy vs. Sherlock Holmes verbal smackdown? Because it's coming. Like in the next chapter. And future ones. Chapters may be sporadic in coming because I really really need to restart my brain on my Thor fic that I've been ignoring for this fandom. I can't help it. Sherlolly is my OTP! LOL_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer**__: Sherlock and Batman do not belong to me. Oh the fun things I could I do with them if I did though. _

_**Summary**__: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change. _

_**Please read the AN before tomatoes are thrown at me. Which I guarantee they probably will be. If it makes you feel any better. I. Love. You. All. Seriously. Your responses have been overwhelming and I'm oozing with love and affection for all of you. Shout-outs at the bottom! Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone!**_

* * *

When it all Begins

Chapter 2

* * *

There are over seven billion people in the world. That's a lot of people and while John knows about the _six degrees of separation_ theory and has seen it at its best sometimes, he still just_ cannot_ comprehend _this_. Because seriously?_ What. The. Hell. Is. This?_

Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce Wayne who was proclaimed dead only to reappear a year ago (John doesn't know how that works, but when you've got billions to spare, what's the harm in a little experimentation, yeah?) Bruce Wayne who has graced the cover of nearly every single magazine on the face of this earth.

(John won't lie, he's a fan. He's a _big_ fan and not just of the money either but because the man is so well spoken and intelligent and oh,_ damn_…he sounds like a squealing little _girl_.)

Bruce Wayne is still holding Molly closely to his body and John can see the way she molds herself to him, he can see the familiarity in their embrace and if John can see than Sherlock is most likely _ripping_ it apart in his mind. Which will inevitably come out of his mouth. _Joy_. (Over seven billion people and an American-billionaire-philanthropist-intelligent-playboy is holding Molly and staring at her like he knows what she looks like without any clothes. He probably does.)

Molly presses her nose to his shoulder. (Oh, he most definitely does.)

John glances at Sherlock because he can't help it. His eyes are still narrowed at the two figures and if looks could kill Bruce Wayne would be _way_ past dead. More like _obliterated_. (In his right mind, this doesn't make any sense to him because Sherlock only cares about ensuring Molly stays _his _patholo-oh. _Oh_. How did he _not see_ this before?)

Okay. Well, he figures that he's done enough ogling to last him a lifetime of embarrassment. "Hullo there."

Molly jumps as if shocked and her cheeks take on a pink hue. "Right. I should introduce you. Silly me. I don't know where my head is at today."

"Possibly enraptured with a well-known playboy. Really, Molly. I thought you had better taste than a _American_." Sherlock says, his words dripping with ice.

John closes his eyes and prays,_ just once, you couldn't have given me this one meeting?_

Molly frowns and tightens her grip around Bruce. Sherlock's eyes grow fiercer. (John _really _needs to talk to him about this.) "Bruce, this is Doctor John Watson." John gives a slight wave and shuffles his feet. It's a nervous habit. "And this is Sherlock Holmes."

John can see the recognition flash in Bruce's eyes and John can feel his stomach plunge. _Sweet Jesus,_ neither of them are going to back down. John doesn't know the full story between Molly and Bruce but it's evident from the way he's _still_ holding her that he feels protective, quite possibly possessive, over the young pathologist. John wonders idly what Molly has told him about Sherlock. "What brings you to London?"

"Molly." Bruce replies, his voice is rough and gravelly. "I wanted to make sure that her New Year's isn't as _shitty_ as her _Christmas_."

_Oh, so she's told him a lot, then. Right. Great. Not._ John doesn't even have to look at Sherlock to know that he winced slightly. Which is the least he can do.

"Come now." Sherlock says, his voice sounding bored, but John knows better. He knows the deeper meaning, the hidden intonation of his voice. "You mustn't lie. You're here for business as well. Oh. Did he not inform you, Molly? _Mr. Bruce Wayne_ is the guest-of-honor at a New Year's Eve gala, where scientists all over the world will be gathered to unveil a tremendously good deed that our dear old friend has done. Bravo, Mr. Wayne. Bravo."

John sighs. Well, it was good while it lasted.

Bruce doesn't move an inch. In fact, if anything, he smiles. It's a charming smile that oozes charisma with a hint of darkness in it.

Molly frowns and looks at Bruce. "I assume you were going to ask me at some point?"

Bruce's smile grows lighter. "After dinner tonight. Guess _Sherlock Holmes_ beat me to it. What do you say Molls? One more night for old times sake?"

_This is definitely not going to Sherlock's plan_. John thinks. He knows how Sherlock wanted Molly to react. He wanted her to feel used. He wanted her to feel like she didn't matter. That in the grand scheme of things, Molly doesn't matter, especially not to a man like Bruce Wayne. Kind of like the way Sherlock makes her feel all the time. (Fuck talking, John is punching Sherlock _in the mouth_, as soon as they get back home.)

"Bruce I hate these things. You _know_ I hate these things."

They're having their own conversation with each other, ignoring the two other men in the room. _Hmm…is Sherlock's eye twitching?_ While John has been in situations where he has been ignored, Sherlock hasn't and this conversation that Molly and Bruce are having is revealing. As in, Molly has known Bruce for a long time. Long enough to attend galas. Long enough to not feel snubbed. Long enough to know not to rise to Sherlock's bait. It becomes clear to John that Bruce knows a side of Molly that he and obviously, Sherlock _don't _know.

"Yeah, but there's no one else I trust." He shifts and looks down at her. "Besides, one of scientists attending, his name is Professor Higgs. Ringing any bells, Molls?"

Molly goes still, her mouth gapes. "_The God Particle._ He's really going to be there? You're not just having me on, yeah?"

"I would never lie to you." Bruce says.

Even Sherlock cannot miss the intensity behind those words. This is getting messier by the minute.

"Then yes." She breathes. "Dear God, Bruce, _yes_!" She squeals and wraps her arms around his neck. "This is the best thing you've ever given me."

"Great," he laughs, "The key to your heart would obviously be a theoretical-overage-balding-scientist. Couldn't you have just liked the diamonds?"

Molly grins cheekily. "Oh no, I like those too."

John's head is spinning. _Key to your heart? Diamonds?_ He glances at Sherlock and he can see that Sherlock is furiously cataloguing their every movement and everything they say.

"Doctor Hooper?" A lab technician pokes her head in and then blanches at the three men in the room. "Doctor Saunier told me to come and get you. He says he needs your help and it's important."

"Be right there." She answers and disentangles herself from Bruce's embrace. She looks at all of them but her head is staring at Bruce and Sherlock. Sherlock and Bruce. "Bruce…I need to…"

"Go." He says pleasantly. "I'll stay here. I'm sure the two of them will be happy to keep me company. Isn't that right?"

"Of course." John answers eagerly. "He's in good hands."

"I'll be back as soon as I can." Molly promises and then she turns to leave, only for her wrist to be caught in Bruce's hand. He pulls her towards him easily, Molly not putting up a fight.

He leans his forehead against hers. "Have you given up on me yet?" He asks her, quietly. It's not quiet enough; John can still hear every word he's saying.

Molly cradles his cheek with her free hand. "Never. You're stuck with me."

It's a very intimate moment between two people who obviously know so much about each other; John makes himself look away. Sherlock doesn't and somehow, John finds himself unsurprised when he hears the low growl that rips from Sherlock's throat.

Then Molly leaves.

And Bruce Wayne turns around to face them, eyes hard, smile dropping off his face and staring directly at Sherlock. "You have_ no_ idea how long I've wanted to meet you."

John 's pretty sure he doesn't mean for tea.

_Lovely. Just great._

* * *

When Bruce Wayne first met Molly Hooper she had just lost her mother and her father sent her thousands of miles away so he could deal with his depression over losing the love of his life. She was younger than he expected and definitely smaller. Tiny, even. _Fragile_, is the word he would commonly associate Molly with when they were younger.

But not really, because Molly Hooper is everything _but_ fragile. She's been through her share of heartaches and disappointments and she's always come out on the other side. She put up with the constant teasing whenever she came back to Gotham to visit him and her uncle. Bruce would always do his best to protect her but she often stopped him, told him to _forget about it, she's used to it._ He thinks its those four little words that made him slam two teenage boys against the wall and threaten them within an inch of their life if they ever came near her or even breathed in her vicinity ever again.

They left and Bruce never told Molly what he did. That night though, while they were scouring the fridge for a midnight snack, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it, letting him know that she knew what he did and she's thankful. Molly has always been thankful.

He supposes it was an arrangement born from her father and her uncle that allowed her to come back to Gotham every summer. Despite having Rachel around, Bruce would somehow always long for the petite British girl. Molly helped him through his darkest days, first when his parents were murdered and she crawled into his bed and held him tightly, intertwining their fingers and then when revenge clouded his mind in a haze of blood and all he wanted was to kill the man who killed his parents. She was always the light in his darkest days. She never judged him, she never tried to stop his plans, she would hear him out, lay her head on his shoulder, intertwine their fingers and _listen_ to him.

(He thinks she's one of the main reasons why he hasn't lost himself completely.)

When he disappeared for seven years, he always thought of her. He always thought of their last conversation where she begged him to come to London, to stay with her, _please, please, wherever you're going, come back. Be safe. I love you, Bruce_.

(One of the first things he did, when he officially resurrected, was catch a flight to London and knock on her door. She stared at him in shock, slapped him, cried and then pulled his lips down to hers. It had been so long since he felt anything remotely and inherently _good_ that he lost himself in the moment. In the few hours that followed it too.)

Then she tells him that she met a man, a brilliant man and _I think I love him_. Bruce's heart doesn't break. They have an agreement that has stemmed from when they were teenagers and their hormones were set on fire. He's happy for her. Hopes this man is a better man than Bruce could ever be. Turns out he's_ not_. Molly tells him everything about him, what he's done (and continues to do), what he's said to her in the past five years she's known this _Sherlock Holmes_.

And Bruce knows that Sherlock Holmes is going to break her heart. Break the Molly he knows and loves. Which is why it doesn't surprise him but completely fucking _infuriates_ him when she calls on Christmas completely and totally blitzed, sobbing out a story that makes Bruce's hands tighten into fists. He has to convince Alfred to stay, the man loves Molly like a daughter, instead of a niece and Alfred would kill to protect Molly. Like Bruce would.

It all works out in his favor when Sherlock Holmes and John Watson come barging into the lab as if they own it. Bruce isn't stupid, nor is he blind, he can see what Sherlock Holmes hasn't even admitted to himself when he glares at Molly and Bruce. Most particularly, at _Bruce._

"So," Bruce says, after a moment of silence, "you're the self-diagnosed high-functioning sociopath I've heard _so_ much about."

"And you're the billionaire playboy with, what is it they say about you? Ah, yes, the heart of gold." Sherlock responds. His voice is cold and indifferent but Bruce knows better. Not just from listening to Molly but from his own research. He's always looked into her boyfriends. He makes himself forget about Jim. _Jim_ was a mistake, one that Bruce will ensure, Molly _never_ has to deal with again.

"Is that part of your magic trick then?"

He gets indignant. "Magic trick? I assure you, it is not a magic trick, I observe and deduce, correctly."

He leans against the counter and his arms hang by his side, "of course. My apologies. Go on, then. Observe_ and_ deduce. I know you want to." He's itching to know what Sherlock can tell about him. From all that Molly has told him and all that he's researched about the man in front of him, Bruce knows that he's a genius. Beyond genius really and if he didn't make Molly cry so many times, Sherlock Holmes would prove to be a great ally. But, not-so-surprisingly, all Bruce wants to do is knock this guy's lights out.

Sherlock sucks in a deep breath. "It is evident from your interactions that you have known Molly for quite some time. The way you hold her and the way she touches you tell me that physicality is an important part in your…_friendship_. The softness, the _sentiment_, reinforces your friendship. Your need to constantly be around her is to ensure yourself that she is and will be always there for you, even after you were proclaimed dead. She mourned you and to a certain extent, she still mourns you. You've changed; it's in her body language. Her hesitancy towards you may not be evident to simple-minded people, but it is to _me_. Because, unlike you, I _have _been around her for the past five years."

"She's also keeping something for you. A secret. You are holding a secret and she is the keeper of it, which is why she ignores all the magazines that John always brings in with you on the cover. She's never said anything about you; never let it be known that she knows you, because she knows she'll become a liability. But for what? For _who_? Your enemies? I highly doubt rival businessmen would take interest in a British Pathologist. You're cleaning up the streets of Gotham, however, the mobsters you have crossed and destroyed, well, they _may_ take issue with Molly."

"Gotham is a dark city and one that Molly has been to many times before, how do I know this?-John you're wondering that very same question-don't deny it, I know you are. Galas. She is your date to galas and parties because normally, a woman would be excited about the gala in and of itself, not the scientist attending. _You know I hate these things_, is exactly what she said, which means that she not only abhors the tediousness of them, but she hates them in general. Despite being around you, Molly has never, even though you may believe it, felt as if she is part of your world. It is why she declines moving to Gotham every time you ask. Ask me how I know this, please do. She loves London. She loves Bart's and _Mr. Wayne_, Molly Hooper loves working with _me_."

Bruce wants to laugh. He wants to tilt his head back and laugh hysterically. He already _knows_ all of this. He knows Molly's insecurities and her fears, he knows how much she loves London, Bart's and she doesn't just love _working_ with Sherlock, she _loves him_. The man is brilliant in his own right, Bruce will give him that, but he _never_ looks _beneath_ the surface. Even an _idiot_ would know that Bruce has been trying to convince Molly to move to Gotham.

Sherlock doesn't know who Bruce really is and he most certainly doesn't know the extent of his relationship with Molly. And throughout all of this, Sherlock never once touched on him and his clearly evident issues that he lets the world see. No. He chose to center his deduction on _Molly_ and Molly's _presence in his life_.

It speaks volumes to what the Consulting Detective will never allow himself to admit and Bruce will take it and run with it.

"Lovely," Bruce admits, "I suppose what they say is right. Can't get anything past you. However; you missed one thing."

"Enlighten me."

"Molly and I? Our physicality is on a much more intimate level than you think." The moment the words leave his mouth, Bruce studies the man before him. He sees his fists tighten, he sees his eyes blaze, his nostrils flare. He sees his cheeks, take on a light pink hue and he sees him looking him over. Trying to deduce if Bruce and Molly have recently had sex. Bruce almost feels bad for the man. _Almost_. "Another thing, you missed. While Molly hates galas and generally hates anything that has to do with large sums of money, she goes for_ me_. She does _everything _for _me_ because she is one of the few people who count in my life. And_ I_ let her know that."

He breathes in deep and stares into wide crystal blue eyes. "I should thank you really. You're right; I've been trying to get Molly to move to Gotham for a long time. Life…is just so much complete with her by my side. You broke her, Mr. Holmes. _Christmas_. Your insults were one too many and than the dominatrix, Miss Adler, was it?" _She's not dead_, Bruce wants to let Sherlock know that he knows, she's not dead. "Final nail in the coffin, so to speak."

"What are you saying?" John asks, his voice tight.

"I'm saying, you're going to have to find a _new_ Pathologist. Because Molly_ is_ moving to Gotham." Molly would never leave London, not while Sherlock Holmes is alive and breathing and he'll probably have to explain to Molly why he's doing this, but she'll forgive him. She always does.

_Got you_. Sherlock's face falls for just a moment and his eyes hold a sense of desperation and maybe even a sense of fear of losing the one person who has _never_ given up on him.

Then his face becomes a mask of clear emotion. "Weak." Sherlock responds. "Molly would never leave London. She'd never leave Bart's and she most certainly would never leave me."

"Why would she?" Bruce concedes, "when you keep on dangling her by a string, using her for your own purpose."

He looks affronted. "I do no such thing."

_Right_. Bruce has reached his threshold for British Consulting Detective assholes. "Listen to me you pompous piece of shit." He hisses, "I don't care who you are. I don't care who _brother dearest_ is, you make Molly cry, ever again, and I'll kill you." _Molly, your taste in men seriously needs to improve. Pronto._

"Quite a bit of darkness in you. Does Molly have any idea who she's gotten in bed with?" Sherlock sneers.

Bruce counts to five. "More than that, she_ likes_ it." Then he grins. "It's killing you, isn't it? You're angry at yourself because _Molly Hooper_ beat you at your own game. She has this entire life you knew nothing about. All this time, you thought you were the center of her world and now you know you're not. _I_ am. How does that make you feel, _Sherlock_?"

He plans on ripping this man apart for all the heartache he's put Molly through and by God, Bruce is going to enjoy it. But then Molly comes into the room.

She stops and assesses the room, her brown eyes going from John to Sherlock to Bruce to Sherlock to Bruce. "Oh Lord."

Bruce grins at her. _Well, really, what did she expect?_ That he'd moon over how brilliant Sherlock _fucking_ Holmes is? Molly knows him better than _that_.

"Molly." Bruce says brightly, he lifts his arm and Molly curls around him, like before. Bruce almost laughs at Sherlock's expression. "We were just discussing you."

"I'm sure you were." She says dryly. "What exactly were you discussing me for?"

"Oh," Bruce says conversationally, "about how I'm going to make you dinner tonight."

She lifts her eyebrows. "You're cooking?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not completely hopeless."

"Could have fooled me." She smiles sweetly when he glares at her. Ah. _This_. This feels good. This feels like the old days before he was Batman and before he supposedly died. He's got seven lost years to make up for.

"Lamb good?"

"Molly doesn't eat lamb." Sherlock states.

"Oh, she does." The Bruce grins, "Something about it being so tender that it _comes apart in her mouth_. Right, Molly?" _Nasty Bruce, apparently wants to come out to play. Fine then._

He winces when she pinches his side. She sighs and nods. "It _would_ be nice to not have takeaway. You still have my key, right? And you know where the-"

"Molly." Bruce interrupts her, "Don't worry. I'll mange. See you soon. Gentlemen, it's been fantastic. We should do this again soon, right Sherlock?" Bruce turns around and places a quick kiss on Molly's lips. "Love you." He mutters.

"Love you too." She says back.

He picks up his duffle bag and leaves the lab.

_Sherlock fucking Holmes_. God, he should have known from meeting his brother that he wasn't going to like the man.

* * *

"Bruce Wayne has a key to your flat?" John asks.

Molly nods and goes over to her station. She left the three men alone for a half hour and _God_ only knows what Bruce said during that time. She knows Bruce. She knows that he can come off as being smug and generally a bit of an ass and she knows Sherlock and well…that just speaks for itself, right? There were a number of reasons why she_ never_ wanted the two of them to meet. _World War Three of the Minds_ is one of the main reasons.

She knows that Bruce is protective of her. He always has been and he most definitely has no problem letting her know about his feelings on her boyfriends or her crushes. He's like Sherlock that way. And _oh God_. She has a type. Tall (well, medium, she supposes in Bruce's case), dark, mysterious and a case of identity crisis on the side (_obviously_.)

"Yes." She answers John. "It just makes things easier. He's got a place to crash whenever he comes to London instead of having to go to a hotel. I've got a set of keys to his place too." She sneaks a glance at Sherlock and sees that his back is turned to her. His muscles are tight and tense and Molly_ really_ wants to know what was said when she was gone. "Look," she says to them, _don't say it Molly. You don't need to say it, in fact, you shouldn't, at all._ "Bruce is very protective of me. He can be a bit…intimidating and well, I'm sorry if he said something untoward." _There_. Words out and she can't take them back. She _won't_.

Then Sherlock makes a strangled noise that sounds oddly like a snort. "He's a possessive egotistical_ American_ with obvious anger issues, a dark side to rival the moon and money he has no idea what to do with. You'd do well to never see him again."

Right. She takes them back. She's _not_ sorry at all. "Sure." She says sarcastically, "I'll get right on that."

"I knew you would see it my way."

She frowns, "are you _mental_? I was being sarcastic. I'm not cutting Bruce out of my life just because you said so."

"And why ever not? You've done so with every other man, for the main reason that you cling to hope of me reciprocating your feelings."

Ah, yes, the proverbial knife. She was wondering when she'd see that again.

"Sherlock!" John hisses.

And this is her life. Her life keeping one man's secret and trying to catch the heart of another who wants absolutely _nothing_ to do with her. It hurts a lot more than she thought it would. "And that will just never happen, will it?" She says and she's horrified to find her voice breaking. Sherlock twirls around in his seat to look at her. His eyes taking in her every flaw, her every breath. She wonders if he can see her heart break. She wonders if he even _gives a fuck_. "I'm nothing to you but means and access to things that no person in their right mind would let you have. I'm a_ tool_."

She winces at the sudden truth…at least she's not stuttering. She just feels like she's breaking.

"Bruce-"

"Don't." She snaps. She takes in a deep breath. "I may be nothing you admire in a person. I'm not as clever as you, or as smart as John and most certainly not as beautiful as Irene Adler once was…and you can say all of that. Truly you can. But do not _ever_, and Sherlock, I do mean _ever_, say anything about Bruce. He's…he's…twice the man you'll ever be."

And because she feels the telltale signs of tears pooling in her eyes, she leaves the lab.

(She leaves a trail of the broken shards of her heart as she walks. She doubts anyone will notice. She doubts anyone will care.)

* * *

He almost rears back at the sudden feeling that intensifies and bursts within his body when he sees Molly in a man's embrace. He's met her boyfriends before, he's the main cause of the reason why they never work, but he knows without even talking to this man, that this man is _different_. That he means something entirely different to Molly.

Her familiarity with him and the way she ignores Sherlock makes him hate this man even more. He sizes him up, picks him apart and waits for the right moment to _tear_ him apart. And he does. His intelligence is enough to scare most people away but not this man. Not Bruce Wayne.

He just smiles at him and _goads_ him.

He feels something (not his heart, _most definitely not his heart_) fall into his stomach when Bruce tells him that Molly is leaving London to live in Gotham _where life is so complete when the two of them together_. Sherlock has never wanted to snarl and break someone as much as he does this man. It's only when he apprises the man that he realizes he's tricking him into a reaction, which he undoubtedly gave away, even if for just a second. (Oh, he's good. He's very good. _Mr. Wayne, you're most certainly what you appear to be, are you?_)

In seriousness, Sherlock doesn't see what the big deal is with this man. He knows who he is, vaguely, because John cannot _shut up_ about the man, but he cannot see the appeal. So, why on earth, does Molly? It's not his money. It's not his fame. It most certainly isn't his personality; he's _American_ for crying aloud.

_Sentiment_, then. Molly has known him for a long time. He relies on her and Molly is too nice of a person to let him go. That's all. He's certain that's all. He's familiar to Molly.

So, he lets Molly know, like he did with all her other boyfriends, that it's okay to let Bruce Wayne go.

Which backfires spectacularly.

It turns out Bruce Wayne means more to Molly than just _sentiment_ and Sherlock is not comfortable with that. _At all_.

(She thinks awful things about herself. He's _made_ her think awful thinks about herself and suddenly, Sherlock knows why Bruce threatened to kill him. It's not about possessiveness but protectiveness. It's an instinct to protect.)

What infuriates him though, is that despite everything, Molly still believes in Bruce Wayne. The fact that she can stand in front of him and tell him that Bruce is twice the man he'll ever be, does something to him. It makes him…feel something in the pit of his stomach and it churns and twists when he sees her brown eyes pool with unshed tears.

Molly Hooper has kept an entire life away from him. She's dropped her stuttering for the first time in five years and she's _letting him go_.

She, Molly Hooper, is letting him, Sherlock Holmes go. Because of Bruce Wayne.

_Well, that's not going to happen_. He's not going to lose the best Pathologist he's ever had because of _feelings_. Absurd, really. He takes out his phone and sends a text.

"Do you have plans with Susie on New Year's Eve?"

"It's Sarah and yes, we do have plans." John responds brightly.

"Cancel them. We're going to a gala."

"What? No. _No_. Sherlock. _Don't you dare_. Just let her go. Let her let you go. You're _killing_ the poor girl."

Why does everyone _see_ but not _observe_? Yes, he wields a knife and he's quite good at cutting people down but Molly Hooper, well, she holds one too and it's dangling dangerously close to him. (Not at his heart though, _definitely not at his heart_.)

* * *

_Right. Okay. So, it goes like this. Bruce was all like '_Me Batman, you, poopoo head'_ to Sherlock and Sherlock was all like '_Me smart, you dumb dumb.'_ Then fists were supposed to fly. Seriously. But then, I was thinking and thought to myself, "_these are the world's two most intelligent and really fucking scary guys to be around. Their words are their weapons. Their cool and elusive personalities, their armor."_ Which is why the smack down, turned out not to be so much a smack down as just the two of them pulling their dicks out and measuring. With poor John rendered speechless._

_I wanted punches to be thrown. I wanted Sherlock to admit his love for Molly and I wanted Bruce to kick his ass. Of course, they would be sophisticated to not come to physical blows. Assholes. They ruined my plans. _

_So, this is me, apologizing for probably disappointing the lot of you. Seriously. I am so sorry. I still hope that you guys enjoyed it because honestly, I did enjoy writing it and hopefully, you'll see where I'm coming from. _

_Also, a most lovely reviewer brought this up: how does John know about Bruce Wayne? To me, Bruce is like…a better version of the Trumps. He's known everywhere because Wayne Enterprises stretches everywhere and he's essentially the poster boy, making Wayne an extremely well-known figure. Hopefully, this clears up some confusion, but if I've managed to confuse anyone, feel free to PM me! _

_Thank you guys for being awesome. Also, I am utterly flabbergasted and really shocked at the response to this. Like HOLY SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS HAPPENED kind of shocked. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU IS AWESOME. Which leads me to a __**HUGE KICK ASS SHOUTOUT TO MY REVIEWERS**__: __**Guests, Toys R Us NOT, Zora Arian, suki2618, J, magicstrikes, varjaks, Diana Holland, Keira-House M.D, LewStonewar, Rantress, hihiyas, Calicar, Lian, Mione W.G, katdemon1895, Sherloky, Heather Snow, thefadingdaysofMay, crooney83, SammyKatz, CreamCrop, Rocking the Redhead, starryeyedgeek, Anonymous, Attracted2Insanity, wisehealerwarrior, , AlexaClyne, lucyyh**__ and _**Lou**_. If I missed anyone, I apologize greatly. You are all AWESOME. Also, __**HUGE SHOUTOUT**__ to everyone who has alerted/subscribed/followed/favorited, all of you AWESOME!_

_Thanks again and much love!_

_P.S. Sherlock, Molly, Bruce and John at a gala? With Mycroft present? Hells to the yeah. This is what the next two chapters will be about. Hopefully, if they cooperate with me. LOL. _


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**__: Sherlock and Batman do not belong to me. Oh the fun things I could I do with them if I did though. _

_**Summary**__: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change. _

_**Two chapters in one go. This is what you guys do to me. You'll probably hate me by the end of chapter 4. I'm really nervous to see how you guys react. And if by some miracle you guys do actually like it, the for sure Chapter 5 will have you guys butchering me. LOL. Seriously. I love you all and sincerely hope you guys like these two installments. **_

_**AN and shout outs are in chapter 4! Any and all mistakes are mine!**_

* * *

When it all Begins

Chapter 3

* * *

When Molly leaves the lab, she goes straight to her office. Which, okay, maybe isn't the greatest hiding spot, but her door has a lock and she _does_ have paperwork to get through, so, it all makes sense. To her, at least. In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have said anything to Sherlock. She_ knows_ how he is. She knows that he virtually feels no remorse in what he says to her. Which makes her feel like an even bigger _tool _than she already is.

Oh_ God_. She wants her uncle. Her uncle would know what to say. He would run his fingers through her hair and make her hot cocoa and tell her stories about her mother and the mischief they would get up to. He would tell her that Sherlock Holmes is a _wanker_ and doesn't deserve her. And then, she'll wail that he does because he's brilliant and she's in love and is _love supposed to hurt so much_?

_Obviously, if it's one-sided and unrequited, Molly, you daft bint. _

Regardless, Molly knows that even though she wants to (and she really _really_ wants to) she won't stop loving Sherlock Holmes. She _can't_. She wishes she could say that she fell in love with his looks (which _yes_, they were a large part, the man is a God among humans, _puny little mortals_) but she fell in love with _him_. With his mind, with his intellect, with his charisma, with his small smile that she would be graced with, when, on the rare occasion she'd say something smart.

(For the record: Molly is a smart person. _Very _smart. She graduated at the top of her class. Not that anyone would believe her due to stammering mess Sherlock turns her into.)

So, even though she'll never get over Sherlock (despite all the God-awful things he says to her, _admit it Molly_, her brain says, _you're a masochist_) she figures she'll muddle through, because Molly Hooper survived thinking her best friend was dead for seven years, she can survive her latest heartbreak. She's resilient. She's strong.

(She's so completely and utterly fucked.)

* * *

When she gets home, it's eight o'clock and the aroma hits her from even outside her flat door. She eagerly unlocks the door and steps in, breathing in the spices. She drops her bag on the floor, hangs her coat and toes off her boots. "Honey!" She teases; she tries to mask the weariness in her voice. She doesn't know why she bothers; he's going to notice anyways. "I'm home."

She hears a deep laugh and she spies Bruce in the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine. She leans against the wall and inhales deeply. "Is that Apple Pie, I smell? You made me pie?"

He snorts. "No. I made you lamb. A nice little pastry place in Piccadilly made you the pie." He looks at her as soon as he opens the wine. Then he sighs. "What did he do?"

"How do you_ do_ that?" She asks exasperatedly.

"It's because I know you Molls." Bruce reminds her. "I've known you since we were kids. I know when you're sad. I know when you're happy; I know when you're angry. I know when you're pretending and right now, you're pretending. What happened?"

"Nothing." She responds quickly. She looks down at the floor. "It's just…a revelation that I'll be nothing more than a means to an end and it hurts."

If anyone knows how much love hurts, it's Bruce. Because unlike Sherlock, Bruce lets himself feel emotions. All of them and Molly knows about his heartbreak at the hands of Rachel Dawes. Molly never particularly liked Rachel when she was younger and she most certainly doesn't like her now. She thinks that Rachel is being selfish and not-to-mention _stupid _when it comes to her relationship with Bruce. Her excuse of not being able to separate Bruce from Batman is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit and the next time Molly sees Rachel, she's going to call her out on her bullshit. Discreetly, of course.

Despite the fact that Molly lives in London, she still keeps up with Gotham news. So, when she came across article upon article about Batman, she became interested. The idea of someone taking charge and trying to give Gotham back to the people instead of mobsters and criminals made sense to Molly. It was reading accounts of what Batman would do that was her first clue. His determination to bring justice back into Gotham and to clean up corrupted politicians and police officers was familiar to her. She remembers the days when she would lean against Bruce's headboard and listen to him talk and rant. (She always listened.)

It was during one of their phone calls that she actually decides to bring up Batman. Bruce has never lied to her, he would never lie to her, but she knows that he's omitted the truth on some occasions (like what really happened during his seven year disappearance.)

"_So, Batman, yeah?"_

_There's silence and then a shuffle. "Didn't know news of Gotham reached across the pond."_

"_Don't be cute. I've been reading up on Gotham. Keeping updated. Someone's got to make sure you and my uncle stay out of trouble."_

_Bruce snorts. "If anything, Alfred enjoys the trouble I get into."_

"_It makes him feel young again."_

_Bruce lets out a sigh, "so, what do you think then?"_

"_Of what?" She asks innocently. _

"_Don't be cute." He parrots her words back at her. "I mean of Batman. What do you think of him? Good, bad, nasty?"_

"_I think," she says slowly, trying to ensure that all her strength, emotions and drive are put into her words, "that he's one of the best."_

_Bruce doesn't say anything and that's all the evidence she'll need. _

She doesn't bring up the phone conversation during their subsequent phone conversations or their e-mails or their messages and most certainly not their Skype conversations. It isn't even until a month later when she finally gets her answer.

_She's woken up at three in the morning by her mobile ringing. Grabbing it, she answers it without looking at who's calling her. "Hello?" _

"_Molly." Her uncle's voice comes through frenzied and worried. "I need you to talk to him."_

"_What's happened? Uncle Alfie? Bruce? What happened?"_

"_Fight." Bruce groans out. "Got hurt. Your uncle is playing nurse."_

_She hesitates just slightly before she takes in a deep breath, "did you get hurt as you or as Batman?"_

_Silence reigns on the other line. "You figured it out, huh? Never could keep anything from you."_

"_Yeah, well," she retorts angrily, "I know I may not be a genius or a billionaire but I'm not stupid, Bruce. I put two and two together. Your ideals and Batman's ideals are really very similar. Quite frankly, I'm a little hurt that you wouldn't tell me. I thought we promised not to lie to each other."_

"_I didn't lie…I just…omitted the truth."_

"_A big fucking truth."_

"_Molly," her uncle admonishes, "language."_

"_Have you given up on me yet, then?" Bruce asks her through gritted teeth. _

_He's in pain and when Bruce is in pain, she's in pain. She bows her head forward and sniffles. She wishes she could be there. She wishes that she could be next to him, running her hands through his hair and intertwining their fingers, like they used to do when they were children. "Never." She croaks, "You're stuck with me."_

He doesn't ask her to keep it a secret.

He knows Molly better than that. She'll take everything he has to the grave with her.

"Molls?" Bruce asks worriedly, "You okay?"

She turns her head to look at him. "Yes, of course. Just thinking."

"Want to tell me what about?"

Does she want to tell him that she's planning on slapping the hell out of Rachel the next time she sees her? Does she want to tell him that they're two peas of a pod and they hurt the same way? Does she want to tell him of everything that he's given up, everything he's sacrificed to become Batman? No. Not really. Bruce has a lot going on and Molly isn't going to add her own drama on top of his. "I'm thinking about how amazing the food is going to be."

He looks at her like he doesn't believe her (which he doesn't) and pulls her close, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Molly?"

"Yeah?" She sighs.

"There may, and I do mean _may_, be a rumor about you leaving London and coming to live in Gotham."

She groans. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." He says defensively. "It was Sherlock's fault anyways. He made me."

"Children." She mutters. "I've surrounded myself with overgrown children."

* * *

After dinner and after dessert, they both crowd in front of her laptop and she brings up Skype. "You did leave him instructions, right?"

Bruce nods, "You know Alfred. I left them but he swears he won't need them. Says that if he can manage being in the Special Air Service, he can figure out how to make Skype work."

"Right." She pauses and then grins, "so, you have insurance on all your equipment then."

"Twenty years." He responds.

She's laughing when her laptop starts ringing. She presses accept and squeals when she sees her uncle. "Uncle Alfie!"

"_Molly? Molly-bear! Oh my. Look at you. I can see you! How fascinating. Truly, one has to admire the technology, I do. Ah, hello Bruce."_

"Hello Alfred. Everything going alright?"

"_Splendid, sir."_ There is something in her uncle's eye that only Bruce understands and Molly knows that she's going to end up leaving the room at one time or another while they talk about business in code. This is why she abandoned her dream of being a spy. Too much work. _"Now, Molly. Tell me everything, leave nothing out."_

And so, because she can't and won't ever lie to her uncle, she tells him everything. She's tucked into Bruce's side, her legs curled under her as she talks to her uncle. She's still horrified to find tears blurring her vision and she's angry with herself. Didn't she tell herself that she'd stop crying over Sherlock?

"_Right."_ Her uncle says, his calm eyes fiery, _"I've got a shotgun. I can be there on the next flight."_

"Uncle Alfie-"

"_I do still have some of my contacts."_ He muses, a hand under his chin, (oh, he reminds her so much of her mother striking that pose) _"I'm sure that they'll help. They do owe me, you know."_

"Uncle Alfie-"

"_Bruce, be a dear and shoot him."_

"Oh," Bruce says, "I've met him."

"_Really?"_ Her uncle's eyes light up. _"And?"_

"He's an asshole. A pompous piece of shit and I told him that. I also threatened to kill him. Don't worry Alfred, I'm taking care of her."

"Because I'm not right here." Molly huffs but she's smiling anyways. These two men would go to the ends of the earth for her and they know that she'd do the same thing for them.

"_We worry about you, Molly."_ Her uncle tells her softly. _"We just want you to be happy. I need you to be happy."_

"I will be." She promises him. "Someday, I will be."

Her uncle stares at her and gives her a sad smile. _"Molly, love. I've never met the man and I most certainly never want to because I really, truly, will not be responsible for my actions, but even I know that the only way you'll be happy is if Sherlock Holmes is in your life."_

She's a dreamer, she always has been and yes, she probably won't ever give up the hope that maybe-_just maybe_-one day he'll open his eyes and see her for who she is, but she knows, realistically, that won't happen. She doesn't _mean_ anything to him. She doesn't count. But she won't stop dreaming. She won't stop hoping, because that's who Molly is. She looks on the bright side of things. She looks for the good in people.

And she knows that despite every heartbreak and every disappointment, her uncle and Bruce would never want her to change. "I'll be fine." She looks around and stretches out her legs. "I'm assuming you two need to talk business? I'm going to get into my pajamas. I'm knackered." She kisses the tips of her index and middle fingers and presses them to the screen. "I love you uncle Alfie."

"_Oh, darling, I love you so much more."_

She gets up and walks into her room, shutting the door behind her. She takes a seat on the edge of her bed and stares at her reflection in the mirror.

(She stares until she counts every flaw Sherlock has ever seen and then she makes herself look away.)

* * *

When she makes her way back out into her living room, the laptop sitting closed on the table and Bruce is still sitting in the same place she left him, head turned and staring out the window. She studies him then. He looks tired, more tired than she's ever seen him before. Her heart aches looking at him. He looks lost. He looks…weary. She wishes she could ease away his pain. She wishes that she could do something-_anything_-to make him smile. To make him laugh. She wishes that she could erase all of his bad memories.

She makes her way over to him and he smiles softly at her when she settles back into the spot she vacated. "Everything alright?"

He nods distractedly.

"Bruce?" She calls out softly, "want to talk?"

There's silence and then he takes a deep breath, "I just…there's this feeling in the pit of my stomach and I can't quite place it."

"How do you mean?"

"You ever just get the feeling that the other shoe is going to drop? That's the feeling. There's…this killer. No one knows who he is, just that he's brutal."

Bruce sometimes talks to her about the people he's come across and because she's a Pathologist she doesn't shy away from the Batman business. If anything, him confiding in her brings her closer to him. But she will admit that she's never heard him this…worried. This hesitant. "A job for Batman then?"

He nods. "He leaves Joker playing cards at his scenes."

She makes a face. "Right, because that's not disturbing."

He pulls her closer to him. "You know how I've always wanted you to move to Gotham?" She nods. "_Don't_. I know that you wouldn't anyways, not with Sherlock still in London but this…I don't want you anywhere this. I've _never_ wanted you anywhere near this. It's why I didn't tell you about Batman in the first place. I...wanted to spare you."

"You're my family Bruce. You and uncle Alfie are the only people I have in this world. Don't ever think that you have to spare me for anything. I'm here." She looks at him as he stifles a yawn and she grabs his hand and yanks him up. "Come on, let's get some sleep." He raises his eyebrows and she rolls her eyes. "I do actually mean sleep."

* * *

"Molly?" He asks into her shoulder later that night.

"Mhmm?"

"Have you given up on me yet?"

"Never. You're stuck with me."

* * *

"Is there any particular reason why you are so adamant to attend this gala?" Mycroft asks his brother. He's leaning against his umbrella in the abandoned warehouse. His brother and John Watson are standing in front of him. John looks put out and frustrated (seemingly how he _always_ looks when it comes to Sherlock) and Sherlock looks…bored. But Mycroft knows his brother (despite how vehemently Sherlock denies this) and he sees the light in his brother's eyes. _Ah, a case_.

"Can I not attend a gala just for fun?"

"You rejected every party invitation when you were younger."

John snickers. "You're meaning to tell me, people actually_ invited _you and you didn't _impose_ your presence on them?"

"This is different."

"A case." Mycroft states.

"Bruce Wayne." Sherlock tells him.

_Oh for the love of-_Mycroft is cut off when John snorts, "Molly Hooper." He corrects. _Well_, Mycroft thinks, _this is interesting_. He studies his brother as he turns to glare at John. Molly Hooper. The Pathologist. _Sherlock's Pathologist_. The one who so blatantly loves him for everything his little brother is. He knows her. He knows all about her (knows about her relationship with Bruce Wayne, please, he's not the British Government for _nothing_.)

Most importantly, he remembers her broken face as Sherlock identified Irene Adler's body by _not-her-face_. He knew what ran through her mind, he knows the despair she felt at being slighted and ignored and insulted by Sherlock and yet she keeps on loving him. He knows that she tried to move on (disastrously, he might add) and he also knows that she can't.

"Ah," he says, "I assume you know her relationship with Mr. Wayne."

Sherlock's eyes turn on him and they are fierce. This…_is _interesting. "You knew? Oh, of course you knew, _brother dearest_. He knows you. A mission? No. No. Another gala. Of course. Molly attended. She always attends with him. London again?"

Mycroft shakes his head, "Paris and it was for charity. I did not speak with Miss Hooper, just Mr. Wayne. You've met him then? What do you think of him?"

He hides a smirk when Sherlock rolls his eyes and mutters "_Doctor_ Hooper."

"So," John says hopefully, "we won't be attending? Because Sarah's going to be quite pissed that I'm canceling on her on New Year's Eve."

"Oh, no." Mycroft says, eying his brother who is looking everywhere but at him. "You'll attend the gala and John, you can inform Sarah that she will be attending as well."

"Fantastic." Sherlock says and then he leaves, his coat billowing behind him.

John groans and looks at Mycroft. "Why'd you have to say _yes_?"

"I'm quite interested to see how this plays out, Mr. Watson, aren't you?"

John is silent, "well, yes, but-"

"John!" Sherlock bellows. "Quickly!"

"Bloody hell. I'm coming!"

Mycroft watches John leaves and then looks at Anthea whose fingers are flickering over her Blackberry. "Anthea?"

"On it sir." She replies.

Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes are not like normal men. They do not feel normally and they most certainly do not act normally, but Mycroft is a big brother and he would be lying if he said he didn't want the best for his younger brother.

It's all he's ever wanted.

* * *

_Chapter 4 is at your disposal. Hopefully._

_Thanks again and much love!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer**__: Sherlock and Batman do not belong to me. Oh the fun things I could I do with them if I did though. _

_**Summary**__: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change. _

_It's gala time. One more chapter to go! Love you all! Any and all mistakes are mine!_

* * *

When it all Begins

Chapter 4

* * *

It's New Years Eve and Molly has nothing to wear. She's torn her closet inside and out and Bruce has dragged her out shopping. Bruce, for the record, abhors shopping. He especially hates the way women stare at him and try to slide up to him and touch him. _What is it with strangers and touching?_ So, instead, he keeps his eyes on Molly as she denies dress after dress.

"It's hopeless." She tells him. "Can't I just wear jeans?"

"You could go in a potato sack and I would still think you're gorgeous."

"God, now you're just taking the piss." She bites her lip and sighs in frustration. "I'm sorry, I'm being so anal. I just…its _Professor Higgs_."

Bruce laughs and kisses her temple. "Go to work and I promise we'll find something."

She nods. "Just pick whatever out. At this point, I'm beyond caring. No one's going to remember me anyways. I'll be back later. What time should we be there?"

"We should probably leave at eight."

She nods and sighs dejectedly. "I won't be long." Then she grins wickedly, "do try not to get ambushed."

"Not funny!" He calls after her. He watches her leave and shakes his head. He's making his way back when he sees a black-haired woman standing in front of a sleek black car. She's wearing a black jacket with black boots and has a Blackberry attached to her hands. He shakes his head goes to walk past her.

"Mr. Wayne. Please get into the car." Her voice is soft but demanding.

Bruce twirls around and glares at her. "Who the hell are you?" He looks her over, wondering if he's met her somewhere before. He knows it wasn't in Gotham. She's got a British accent and she looks completely disinterested in him.

The back window slide down and a familiar face comes into view. Bruce doesn't bother holding back a groan. "Jesus, I just can't get away from the Holmes brothers, can I?"

"The car, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce cocks an eyebrow at Mycroft. "Is that an order?"

He smiles pleasantly at him. "Of course not. Merely a suggestion." After a pause, he sighs. "It's about Miss Hooper."

"It's _Doctor_ Hooper." Bruce mumbles as he opens the door and gets into the car, the woman following him. He settles himself into the seat and stares around. He spots a box next to Mycroft, it's long and wrapped, a red bow surrounding it. "What about Molly? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." Mycroft assures him. He hands Bruce the box. "It is in her size and will suit her spectacularly. Anthea chose it." Anthea doesn't respond. "She is attending the gala with you tonight." He doesn't state this as a question.

"You already know she is." Bruce responds. He shifts. He doesn't like Mycroft Holmes. He met the man _once_ in Paris during another gala and to be honest, he kind of freaked him out. And_ pissed_ him off. Which he supposes is a Holmes trait. Bruce doesn't like how the man knows everything and by the way he was looking at him in Paris and how he's looking at him now, Bruce has reason to believe that Mycroft does indeed know _everything_. Not that Mycroft says anything and Bruce would never ever mention it to him, but it always keeps him on his toes. Always makes him think twice about what he says in Mycroft's presence.

"My brother will be attending. As will Mr. Watson and his date."

Well, shit. Molly is going to kill him. Or kiss him. Bruce is hoping on the latter because Molly packs a pretty solid punch.

So, if John Watson is bringing a date, does that mean…? _No_. If Sherlock Holmes brings a _date_ to the same gala that Molly is attending, Bruce will kill him. _Publicly _and it won't be _nice_. It won't be quick and Bruce will make sure that it will_ hurt_. _Why is he even going?_ _The Holmes brothers,_ Bruce thinks, _are testing my patience, not to mention my sanity._

"My brother does not have a date, Mr. Wayne. Sherlock…does not _do_ sentiment."

"Because he's a high-functioning sociopath. Yeah, we've met."

"Because he believes it to be a waste of time. A waste of energy. Why bother with sentiment when he has his job."

"His job, doesn't even exist." He made that damn title up. Alfred even looked it up for him.

Mycroft gives him a look as if saying, _you're preaching to the choir_. "Molly Hooper…has gotten underneath my brother's skin and I do not believe that even he realizes it yet."

_Oh. So, he's not the only one who sees what Sherlock is denying. Great_. "Molly isn't a game." He says through gritted teeth. "He hurts her over and over."

"It is how he is and as far as I'm concerned, Molly does not fault him for it. In fact, one can even say that she likes him more for it. He does not conform to societal rules and well, Miss Hooper has always liked strange men, wouldn't you agree?"

Bruce looks at him sharply and snaps, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Merely observation, Mr. Wayne."

_Observation._ He's never hated that word so much.

"As lovely as catching up with you is, is there a reason why I'm still here?"

"Ensure that yourself and Miss Hooper are at the gala by eight o'clock sharp."

Bruce bristles at being ordered. "Like hell I-"

"Mr. Wayne." Mycroft says, his eyes steely and boring into his. "You most certainly will." There's a threat behind the words and Bruce blanches. Fuck. He was right. Mycroft _fucking_ Holmes_ knows_.

Bruce leans back and eyes the elder Holmes brother. "What is it that you do exactly?"

"A minor government position, no one of importance."

He looks at the car, at Anthea, at the box in his hand and then at Mycroft. He scoffs. "Sure. Okay. Let's go with that."

He gets out of the car and watches as it drives away. He hails a cab and gives him Molly's address. As soon as he's inside, he opens the box and peers at the red dress. He lifts it up delicately. It's nice. It's more than nice actually, it's beautiful and he knows Molly will look beautiful in it.

_Fucking Mycroft Holmes._

* * *

He debates with himself in regards to telling Molly. He knows that if he tells Molly Sherlock is attending, she won't go. She'll be adamant about not going. She'll probably stomp her feet and cross her arms over her chest. She'll settle onto her couch and crack open a bottle of wine while sobbing over _Pride and Prejudice._

And Bruce will feel guilty _and _homicidal.

Molly showers and takes an obscene amount of time in the bathroom. After she walks out of the bathroom, she takes an even longer time in her bedroom. He can hear the blow-dryer, he even hears her let slip a few curses.

He's standing in front of the window staring at the busy street down below him and he takes in a deep breath. He won't think about Gotham. Not tonight. Tonight, he's taking a break and making sure that Molly has a good time being wowed by scientists that she's admired from afar (and making sure that Sherlock doesn't fuck things up.)

He glances at his watch and smirks. It's eight-fifteen and Bruce has never been so happy to stick it to anyone before.

"Sorry." Molly calls out as she comes out from her bedroom. "I've made you late."

"It's fine." He says and turns around. His mind goes blank. She looks stunning. He knew that she would the moment he pulled out the red dress from the box. It falls to the floor in a deep red color, dipping into a modest V-neck around her chest but Bruce knows the effect is in the back. It dips dangerously low and has two silk ribbons crossing at the dip of her lower back. She's a vision in red. He wonders what Sherlock Holmes will think when he sees her. And then Bruce decides that he doesn't care. "You look stunning." He tells her truthfully.

She grins. "Well, someone has fantastic taste."

He helps her put on her jacket and helps her down the stairs to the flat and into the awaiting car. "Yeah." He says, "About that…it wasn't me."

_Isn't there a saying about the truth setting you free?_

"I'm sorry?"

He sighs. "It was Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock is attending the gala."

"And you just decided to tell me this?" She looks angry. He was supposed to tell her this earlier, wasn't he?

"Chin up, Hooper. You're meeting _Professor Higgs_."

"I hate you." She sulks in the back seat. "I really hate you."

He laughs at her.

"In fact, I hate you so much, I'm telling uncle Alfie on you."

_Well...shit._

* * *

Sherlock hates galas. He hates parties. He hates social interactions.

But there is something about this gala, something about this party, something about this social interaction that is clawing at him. He pushes it aside as experimentation. He wants to see Molly and Bruce interact in a room full of virtual strangers. He needs to…he doesn't know what he needs, just that it has to do with _Molly_.

Molly Hooper. Molly Hooper, Pathologist who looks at him with stars in her eyes and adoration. Molly Hooper who loves him despite everything he has done to her. Sherlock is not an idiot. He knows what he does. He's aware of how susceptible she is to his compliments, how she covets the idea of him and her.

Sherlock…doesn't have much experience with women. In fact, he doesn't have any. (Teenage experimentation aside it truly was a horrible experience). Being in a relationship, being part of a duo was never something he wanted.

(John isn't the same because he's _John_.)

But then Molly Hooper looked at him with tears pooling in her brown eyes and dejection oozing from her very being and Sherlock suddenly gets a_ feeling_, a wretched _feeling_ that nearly tops him from the stool he was sitting on. It's surprising and not at all welcome and he wants it _gone_ (oddly, like he wants Bruce Wayne to be _gone_.)

He needs to concentrate on things other than Molly Hooper and Bruce Wayne.

So, he focuses on the people around him. He tears them to bits. Sarah looks uncomfortable. John looks irritated, Mycroft's expression doesn't change and Anthea promptly ignores him. Sherlock on the other hand is absolutely gleeful at having new victims. _Oh, so much debauchery in the room._

"Bloody hell." John curses and then he apologizes to Sarah.

Sherlock looks to where John is gaping and he feels something drop in his stomach. He doesn't know what it is, he almost feels sick.

Molly Hooper has entered the room with Bruce Wayne and she looks…different. She looks…content at Bruce's side. She looks…happy. _Beautiful_, the word come unbidden into his mind.

_This_ is why he doesn't like _sentiment_. This is why he abhors feeling anything other than complete indifference. It makes him weak. It turns him into a fool and Sherlock Holmes is not a fool. Not for anyone. Most certainly _not_ for Molly Hooper.

(That doesn't stop him from glancing at her every now and then.)

"What a surprise." Bruce drawls sarcastically. "John, Sherlock. Mycroft. I, however, have not had the opportunity to meet the lovely young women."

"Sarah." Sarah introduces herself. She shakes Bruce's hand and looks at Molly. "You look stunning. The dress is beautiful."

Anthea for some reason looks just a little bit pleased. Sherlock's eyes narrow. _Mycroft. Of course._

"Thank you. You look beautiful as well." She inclines her head to them. "Gentlemen. Sherlock."

John snorts. Bruce bites his lip to conceal a smirk.

Sherlock fumes. "Molly."

Before he can say anything else, Bruce cuts in. "Professor Higgs is alone. Want to introduce yourself?"

She smiles genuinely and Sherlock notices how much more relaxed she becomes. She nods, tells them goodbye and makes her way to the man off to the side.

"Well," John says, "who knew that's how Molly looked like dressed up?"

Sherlock did. Sherlock knows everything.

(It's both his blessing and curse.)

* * *

Professor Higgs is wonderful. Seriously wonderful. She's smitten and he laughs and tells her that he is _honored such a brilliant young woman appreciates his work_. He called her brilliant and Molly almost fainted. They talk for quite some time and Molly grows more confident in the conversation, even talking to others who join in.

This is what she relishes. This is what she's good at. God, she feels like she's _worthy_ being surrounded by these people.

"Bruce," one of the women says, her teeth gleaming with a smile, "your wife is absolutely to die for."

They get mistaken for husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend all the time. It doesn't bother them. It never did. "She is, isn't she?" Bruce beams at her like he's incredibly proud of her. (He is. He always is.)

(Molly tries her best to ignore Sherlock but she can't help it. She sneaks glances every now and then. He's never looking her way and she ignores the hope that dies within her chest.)

Bruce twirls her around the dance floor, his hand warm against her bareback. He's talking to her, lowly, reminiscing about all the other galas and parties that they've attended together. She laughs loudly at some of the memories and she looks up at him brightly.

_God_. She's _missed_ this. She's missed seeing his smile and hearing his laugh and if she closes her eyes, she can almost see their younger selves, running around Wayne Manor and sneaking in midnight snacks.

"You haven't said one word to Sherlock all evening."

She hasn't. It kills her. She never knew that it would but it does. But she's trying to be a new person. She's trying not to be so…insignificant. So…desperate. "Is that a problem?"

"No." Bruce says quickly. "Not to me but to you, it is." He smiles sadly at her. "You love him, Molls. You've loved him for what, _five_ years? That's a long time to give your heart to someone."

"I've known you for longer."

"It's not the same." He tells her softly.

She huffs. "Why are you saying this? I'm moving on. I'm trying to move on. I'm trying to be a new person. A better person."

"Molly." Bruce tells her, he stops moving and cups her cheeks. "You are one of the best people I have ever known in my life and your capacity to love someone for who they are is what makes you, _you_."

"Bruce-"

"I'm going to say this once and I'll forever deny it if you bring it up, but Sherlock Holmes _makes_ you, _you_. He was there when I wasn't and Molls, I'll never forgive myself for those seven years, but loving Sherlock makes you compassionate and he challenges and infuriates you."

"He breaks my heart." She tells him quietly.

"The best ones do." He says quietly. He pulls her closer and places a kiss atop her head.

Her heart aches for him. They're silent for a while, swaying to the music and she relaxes in his embrace, allowing the warmth of his hands to spread throughout her body. "Does this mean you…accept him?" _You're not even dating Molly. You're nothing to each other. Get a hold of yourself. _

"God no. I still hate the smug bastard but…for some reason you _don't _hate him. You _can't_ hate him, so I'll make an effort, not a very big one, mind you, to be…civil."

"So, still very rude, then."

He beams down at her. "You know me so well."

She laughs loudly; attracting many stares and shakes her head. "Oh, Bruce. I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

"You were late." Mycroft tells him.

"Fashionably." Bruce answers. His eyes narrow when he sees Sherlock awkwardly cut in on Molly's dance with John. "Look. Molly, she loves your brother. Don't deny it. I know you know and I know you know that Sherlock, despite being socially inept, feels _something_, however small, for her too. So, I'm giving you a warning: if she calls me, sobbing over something that asshole said, I'm coming back and I'll drag his ass through the depths of hell."

Mycroft smirks as he lifts his flute of champagne to his mouth. "Oh, Mr. Wayne. I expected nothing less."

_Yeah…whatever._

* * *

She dances with Bruce. She dances with men she's never met before and she_ stares_ at him. When she thinks he's not looking. Sherlock is always looking though. He always sees and observes. He sees and observes her dancing and talking with Bruce. They're having a serious conversation (it's about him, he knows it, because of Molly's expressions. She's always so expressive in her emotions.) He sees and observes Bruce and Mycroft conversing (it's about him, he knows it, because Bruce has a livid expression on his face and Mycroft eyes flit with amusement. He really must find out what his brother knows on Bruce Wayne. The suspense is _killing_ him.)

He sees and observes John ask Molly to dance and Sherlock straightens up. She offers him a bright smile (the one that she would reserve for him) and accepts his invitation. They're talking and laughing (all about trivial things) and Sherlock has had enough (he's never been one to be ignored and he's not going to start now.)

He clears his throat. "May I cut in?" At least he asked nicely. _Mummy would be so proud. _

Molly looks amused. "You get John to yourself all the time."

John chokes on air and Sherlock rolls her eyes. She's growing a backbone and Sherlock knows it's because of Bruce Wayne's presence. He makes her a different person and Sherlock doesn't like it. _At all_.

"Right. Well, Sarah is probably bored to tears. So, we're going to go." John kisses Molly on the cheek. "Happy New Years, Molly. See you soon, I'd wager."

"Happy New Years, John." She takes a deep breath and Sherlock keeps his eyes locked on hers. He will not allow his eyes to wander. He has no reason to (Sherlock is a fantastic liar.) He takes one of her hands in his and places his other one around the small of her back. She places her other one on his shoulder.

They don't say anything and he finds that her skin scorches his hand.

"I'm not moving to Gotham." She says suddenly. She flushes. "Bruce…he told me…I'm _not_ moving to Gotham. I love the city, but…well…London's home, isn't it?"

He_ knew _it. He _knew_ Molly would never leave London. Never leave Bart's. Never leave _him_.

Sherlock clears his throat. "I have hurt you."

She peers up at him, her brown eyes wide and illuminated. "You always do."

_Why does that admission hurt?_ Ah, there's that strange feeling again. How he detests it. "It is what I do."

"I know."

_Then why do you feel things for me?_

Molly Hooper's feelings for him are an enigma.

"I will endeavor to…not." There he's said it and he's surprised to find that he means it. He never _intentionally_ means to hurt Molly. Not really, because she's Molly. She's literally been the one constant in his life for five years.

Then something astonishing happens. She laughs. It's loud and a little bit tired and a little bit weary. "No, you won't. Sherlock…you can't. It's…it's…who you are."

He almost (_almost_) startles in surprise. She_ knows_ him. Of course she does because for the five years he's known her (does he really, though?) she's known him for equally as long.

And she accepts him. Completely and wholly. He's never had someone have that much faith in him. (John is the exception. John is always the exception.)

He can vaguely hear the chanting of the countdown (something that he truly finds redundant) and the room suddenly explodes with cheers. Partners kissing one another, as _Auld Lang Syne_ echoes throughout the speakers and Sherlock Holmes is staring down at Molly Hooper who is looking intently at him.

(_Molly Hooper, the enigma_; it has a nice ring to it.)

He bends down and presses his lips hesitantly to her forehead. He dislikes public displays of affection and he especially dislikes them for sentimental reasons (such as New Year's.)

She'll understand the gesture as being much more intimate than a kiss on the lips (Molly is sentimental like that) and by her tightening grip on his suit jacket, she _does_ understand. She understands that he's not like other men. He doesn't know how to be normal. He doesn't want to be normal. She understands that he'll never what she wants him to be, what she needs him to be but that he'll…try not to be so horrible. (Because Molly Hooper is important in his life. She_ does_ count; he just doesn't want to admit it. Finds that he can't admit it. Not yet.)

And she accepts him. Completely and wholly.

(It's terrifying.)

The feeling in his stomach, sighs in contentment when she lays her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

(Her pulse matches the beat of his own. It feels…strangely…right.)

John is obviously going to have a riot when he finds out.

* * *

_Bahaha what's this? Two chapters in one sitting? One more chappie to go, my lovelies and it's got to do with the Fall. I don't know if I mentioned it before but I just wanted to say that the timeline is after Christmas but before the Fall and right after Batman Begins._

_So, I rewrote and rewrote this scene a million times and finally settled on this one because to me…it does strangely feel right. But that's just me, because I'm somehow so fucking invested in these characters. Why? It just makes me more crazier than I am. _

_Also, who loves Mycroft? Because he totally ships Sherlolly and knows Bruce's secret. He's the Ice Man. Of course he knows! Also, Bruce doesn't ship Sherlolly per se, he just ship Molly's happiness, which unfortunately for him, happens to be lie with Sherlock. What a sucka. _

_I couldn't make Molly angry at Sherlock. I just couldn't. Why, you may ask? Because I truly, one hundred percent believes that she loves him and to me, love is forgiving and amending. It's accepting the person you're with completely and wholly and not judging them for it. So, while he does hurt her, she understands it's because it's who he is. And I mean, let's be honest, I'd forgive my partner if he looked like Benedict Cumberbatch. Seriously. HOT DAMN. But yeah, love, it makes us do crazy ass things. Like love a high-functioning sociopath who has some serious issues to work through. Lol. _

_The fact that this story has gotten so many responses, honestly makes me hesitant to post this because I loathe to upset anyone with this story. So, I'm apologizing in advance to anyone I offend with these two installments. I know some of you are going to be upset and I want you to know that I'm sorry. I love you all. _

_Speaking of love, _**MUCH LOVE TO MY MOST AWESOME**_: __**starryeyedgeek, Toys R Us NOT, magicstrikes, thefadingdaysofMay, Zora Arian, Guest, katdemon1895, rantress, CreamCrop, Attracted2Insanity, varjaks, LadySolitaire83, Anonymous, Rocking the Redhead, musicchica10, Sherloky, Eula Marie, Mrs. Dizzy, Lono, , Adi Who is Also Mou, crooney83, hihiyas, chironsgirl, TheSmilingCat, 4UISUNI2, hipkarma, lucyyh, Guest, Lou, CandyGirl999**__ REVIEWERS: and __**IvPayne**__. I love you guys so so much._

**HUGE SHOUTOUT**_ to everyone who has subscribed/alerted/favorited I LOVE YOU ALL. _

_SERIOUSLY. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. _

_Thanks again and much love. _


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer**__: Sherlock and Batman do not belong to me. Oh the fun things I could I do with them if I did though. _

_**Summary**__: Molly Hooper has successfully hidden knowing Bruce Wayne from Sherlock for a long time. Thanks to a very humiliating Christmas party, getting completely blitzed and a phone call, this will all change. _

_**End of the road and if you didn't hate me before…you'll probably hate me now. LOL. I love all of you. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. AN and shout outs down at the bottom! Also this is what happens when I listen to **_**Ed Sheeran**_** on loop. He and **_**Florence and the Machine**_** are, I believe, my Sherlolly inspiration.**_

* * *

When it all Begins

Chapter 5

* * *

"Are you sure you've got everything?" Molly asks him, walking side by side into the busy Heathrow Airport.

"Yes, mother." Bruce teases.

She shoves him. "Don't be rotten. I just want to make sure that you have everything you need."

"I've got everything, I promise."

They're silent as he electronically checks-in and then he turns to her. "Do you really have to go?" She asks him quietly. She doesn't want him to go. She wants him to stay with her. She wants him to be safe and she knows that Gotham isn't the safest city, especially with his extra-curricular nightly activities of trying to rid Gotham of its horrors.

"Gotham needs me." He tells her just as quietly.

"_I_ need you." She tells him. And she does. Oh_ God_, she really does. He's her strength. He's her anchor. He's everything she ever wishes she could be and she's selfish enough to admit that she doesn't want him to go.

"Sherlock would disagree with you." Ah, yes. _Sherlock_. He's kept to his promise so far about not being as rude as he used to be (this speaks multitudes to her but she won't let herself analyze it, she _won't_). He slips up, of course. Not that Molly holds it against him. She laughs at it more than anything. She doesn't declare her undying love (even though it really is bloody obvious) and he doesn't_ truly_ treat her any differently than before, but…there will be times that she'll catch him staring at her, eyes taking her in and then he'll give her a little half smile (a little bit confused and a little bit like he's in pain) and she understands that he has absolutely no idea where to go from here.

Not that he really wants to go any further.

And Molly finds that she's coming to terms with it. She's happy with Sherlock in her life. She doesn't care how, just that he's there and he is. He _always_ is.

"Sherlock knows that you're my number one. Well, you and uncle Alfie." Uncle Alfie who stared at her blankly (via Skype, they never should have taught him that, he's been video-conferencing with her at the most oddest hours) and then told her that he's still grabbing his shotgun as soon as he comes to London, when she told him what transpired between them.

"You do realize that he's going to lecture me about letting him within one hundred meters of you. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I'm fully looking forward to the reenactment when you call me."

"You're a cruel woman, Molly Hooper."

"You love me." She sighs and then looks at him with tears pooling in her eyes and a wobbly smile. "You'll be safe…won't you?" She can tell that he's becoming uneasy about this Joker killer and Molly can't help but worry about him. She can't help but worry about all of them. "Promise me you'll be safe."

"As safe as I can be." He drops his duffle bag and gathers her in his arms. He kisses the top of her head and she leans closer, placing her ear over his heartbeat. "Hey, Molly?"

"Mhmm?"

"Have you given up on me yet?"

"Never." She replies, her voice croaking with emotion. "You're stuck with me."

She watches him go through the Custom line and she watches him as he turns and waves at her. She watches him until she doesn't see him anymore and then she turns, with a heavy heart, to go to work.

* * *

"He's gone then." Sherlock doesn't pose this as a question. He never poses anything as a question.

Molly takes a deep breath, smiles at John and nods. "Yes. I just came from the airport."

"Which is why you're late and you've been crying, although the reason escapes me, he's going to _America_, he's not dead." She can hear the_ unfortunately_ that is unsaid.

"Thank you for stating the obvious." Molly mumbles.

"Is he ever planning on coming back?" John asks conversationally. He's shifting his feet, which means he's nervous about asking this. Molly hides a smile.

"John has a crush." Sherlock says aloud.

"I do _not_!" John sputters. "I mean, it's _fine_, that's _completely fine_, but I don't! He's…Bruce Wayne."

Molly giggles and pats John's shoulder. "Don't worry John, I won't tell Sarah. Besides, you're right. He's Bruce. He has that effect on people."

"Not on me." Sherlock tells them. "In fact-"

Molly sighs and rubs her temple. She's too tired to hear him go off on his rants, _especially _when it's about Bruce and not-at-all nice (Bruce and Sherlock are so similar and both of them would be _aghast _if she ever actually told that to them). "Sherlock, don't. Just…don't. Stop."

And the most astonishing thing happens…he stops.

(Oh, she's so telling Bruce about this.)

* * *

A month later, she kills Sherlock Holmes. But not really.

Jim-_Moriarty_-is back and he's hell-bent on destroying everything Sherlock holds close to him.

(For once, she's grateful for his indifferent behavior towards her because this-_his indifference_-saves her life. She doesn't bring herself to think about what would happen if Jim-_Moriarty_-realized that she _does _indeed _count_ to Sherlock.)

He stays with her for a couple of weeks, while he gathers information on Moriarty's network.

(He sometimes looks like he wants to say more to her, but he doesn't. She knows that sometimes he hovers behind her when she's in the kitchen, hesitation rolling off his body awkwardly. Instead, he doesn't say anything and they both pretend that _sometimes,_ these little moments _don't_ happen. It's easier on both of them that way.)

She takes Bruce's phone calls (he's so tired. So weary all the time. She's worried about Bruce. Uncle Alfie is worried about Bruce. _Everyone_ is worried about _everything_) in her bedroom, away from Sherlock.

"_I heard what happened to Sherlock."_ Bruce says quietly to her, his voice heavy. _"Molly…I'm so sorry."_

She wants to tell him that he's not dead. That he's on her laptop in her living room and complaining about everything, but she can't, because she _promised_ Sherlock she wouldn't tell_ anyone_. And Molly Hooper keeps her promises.

"I'll be fine." She tells him and unsurprisingly, tears are streaming down her cheeks. She's lying to him. She's lying to Bruce, after everything they've been through and she feels like scum of the earth. They once promised each other that they would never lie to one another.

She's the first one to break this promise.

(She's more than a little heartbroken when she wakes up one morning to find Sherlock gone. Not leaving a trace that he lived with her. She's angry and upset and she gets angrier and more upset when she feels relief.)

* * *

It takes Sherlock six months to destroy Moriarty's network. John punches him and then proceeds to hug him until both of them can't breathe.

As per, Sherlock and Mycroft's promise, Molly is not implemented in the elaborate hoax.

She calls Bruce that night anyways. He already knows. Because for as much as she keeps up-to-date with Gotham, Bruce does the same with London. _"So, he's really not dead."_

"Nope." She says, a smile on her face. "Bruce, are you…disappointed?"

He doesn't hesitate. _"Yes. And you had no idea that he was…faking it?"_

"None at all." She lies.

He doesn't say anything but then he sighs_. "Sure. Okay. Let's go with that. I'm not angry."_ He adds on. _"Trust me, I have no reason to judge."_

She changes the subject. "How are you?" She's read the news on the Joker. She knows that he's_ just_ getting started on unleashing a different type of hell on Gotham. On Batman. On Bruce. She can't help but worry. She can't help but want to get on the next flight to Gotham and stand next to Bruce and her uncle. But she doesn't. Bruce wouldn't let her.

He tells her everything. It's what they do. They confess and they don't bother on asking for forgiveness. It's already given.

It's _always_ given.

* * *

She meets John and Sherlock in the hallway on her way to the morgue. She has her clipboard in her hand, studying it, as she gets ready for the day.

"I need to see Paul DeRossa's body." Sherlock tells her.

John rolls his eyes. "He means to say_ please_."

Molly shakes her head and opens the morgue doors. "Just a moment." There's a body bag already on the slab, waiting for her. She places her clipboard on the tray and makes her way to the bag. She leans forward and sees John and Sherlock edge closer. She's unzipping the bag when she stops.

She stops breathing. Her blood runs cold.

"Molly?" John asks worriedly. "Molly, what is it?"

"Was this here before?" She asks them, her eyes wide. "Was this here-_anywhere_-at the scene?"

"No." Sherlock says it slowly and his eyes examine her. They pick her apart and for one crazy moment, she thinks they look worried for her. She shakes that thought away.

Her brain can't process anything. She doesn't hear what John is saying. She doesn't hear what Sherlock is saying. She doesn't see the furious look on Sherlock's face when she sways and grips the edge of the slab. And suddenly, she can't see Sherlock anymore, but she recognizes his scent as he comes to stand next to her, his presence safe and protective.

Molly doesn't really see anything, except for the Joker playing card, lying atop a dead man's chest. The Joker on the card is smiling at her. Taunting her. _He leaves Joker playing cards at his scenes, _Bruce once told her. (Molly doesn't know if his scene is the _dead man_ or _her_.)

(This is the beginning of the end. Molly can just feel it.)

* * *

_BOOM. Open-ended, right? I think I'm cruel. I know I'm cruel. I just…couldn't resist. Will I do a follow up? Maybe. Maybe not. If I do…it won't be anytime soon. But maybe one day, I'll come back to this and finish it off, without making you guys want to rage and throw stuff at me, LOL. But as of right now, this is the ending…which if you can believe it, it was that last part that started this entire thing for me. Because really? Bruce Wayne and Molly…that shit came out of nowhere. And it was all fluffly for a while but we all know that once you're with Bruce Wayne…ain't nothing fluffly `bout that. Hahaha. Also, I changed the timeline from after the fall to six months because I kind of wanted a lead-up to the Joker because we all know that he'd take his time and kill a bunch of people before unveiling himself. Or at least, I think so. The timelines may not work out...but can we pretend that they do? I apologize if I offend anyone with horrible inaccuracies. _

_It does sadden me, because the overwhelming response to this story has been…well, overwhelming. Never, in one hundred million years, did I think this story would be so well received. You guys are the light of my life. Seriously, I love you all. It makes me tingle every time I see a review/favorite/subscriber…seriously. It's just…amazing. You're all so amazing beyond words and your constant support means the world to me. _

_This of course leads to a _**HUGE ASS FREAKING THANK YOU TO MY REVIEWERS:**_**katdemon1895, CreamCrop, starryeyedgeek, crooney83, IvPayne, magicstrikes, Candygirl999, Rocking the Redhead, Lily is Wholocked, musicchica10, hihiyas, varjaks, , hipkarma, Zora Arian, Potix, Toys R Us NOT, thefadingdaysofMay, Mrs. Dizzy, Sherloky, Diana**__ and __**Guests**__. I apologize if I missed anyone! I love you all the same! Also _**HUGE ASS THANK YOU**_ to everyone who has read/favorited/alerted/subscribed._** AWESOME. ALL OF YOU. **

_Also, because all Nolanites need to stick together (seriously, what is it about Nolan and Sherlock that just seems so right? We need to start a petition because this in real life? EPIC), I've got to give major props to my girl _actressen _who is tackling on an Inception/Sherlock fic, _The Somnambulists,_ that is far exceeding anything I could ever do. It's awesome and you should all check it out. Fuck…Nolan! You're taking over Sherlolly. So awesome. But seriously, it's awesome and I squeal because it's got Sherlolly, Arthur/Ari and John being stuck in the middle of it all. EPIC. _

_**I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. **_

_Thanks again and much love!_


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